


Broken Things

by orphan_account



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Abel is emotionally unavailable, Abuse, Angst, Cain is clueless, Cluelessness, Dysfunctional Relationships, Feelings, Infidelity, M/M, Romance, So much angst, Violence, stupid boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Cain thinks Abel should have come with a manual, because all Cain ever seems to do with him is get things wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> Below is basically just a big, messy ball of angst and feelings. I thought it would be interesting to subvert the usual tropes: Here Cain is the needy, desperate one, while Abel's more remote and emotionally unavailable. I should probably mention that this is my favourite version of Cain—in love but too emotionally stunted and damaged to realize what love is, or even that what he’s feeling _is_ in fact love—so please indulge me. Or, you know, don’t.
> 
> Edit: I've just fixed up a few problems here; I'm sorry, I'm terrible at proof-reading!

They’re losing the war. No one tells Cain as much, but the sullen mood hanging heavy over the ship tells him all he needs to know. It has permeated everything, including his relationship with Abel, and the hopelessness of their predicament—along with the secrets he’s being forced to keep—is slowly but surely pushing its way between them.

Abel’s been distant with him lately, moody and pensive, and Cain can tell Abel’s starting to grow resentful towards him. Sometimes, Cain will catch him inspecting his scarred lip in the bathroom mirror with a troubled look on his face, as if he’s silently willing it to heal and disappear. When he catches Cain watching him he’ll scowl at him, as if daring Cain to explain himself, until Cain gives up and leaves him alone to brood in peace.

He hasn’t felt so fucking lonely since before he and Abel were assigned together. He wants to throw Abel down and make him _his_ again, wants to make him _want_ that scar on his lip, because it's the only thing that binds them together; but he’s fighting a losing battle—Abel doesn’t need him as desperately as he once did, is starting to feign tiredness whenever Cain tries to touch him at night, and Cain is almost ready to admit defeat and move on; to find someone else to screw if Abel’s so fucking bored with him.

He doesn’t know what else he can give when he’s already given Abel all he’s capable of giving—too much that Abel could use against him when things inevitably turn sour.

But it’s seeing him with someone else that makes Cain realize how deep in the shit he’s allowed himself to get; that he _can't_ give up and move on, even if he wants to. If it’s not Abel, then no one else will do.

He spots his navigator in the corridor down from their room one day, on his way back from training for the afternoon. Cain hangs back in the shadows to watch him, and Abel remains ignorant to his presence. He’s banging on the side of the drinks machine, muttering under his breath, when another navigator comes up behind him—some skinny little thing with long blond hair—and stands way too close to him, one hand on Abel’s hip while he reaches past him to do something to the machine. It soon rattles to life and he murmurs something into Abel’s ear, dragging his palm up and down Abel’s side.

Abel sucks in a sharp breath as the other navigator’s hair brushes his cheek; he bites his lip, cheeks flushed pink, and Cain grits his teeth. He knows that look—it’s a look that once only Cain alone was able to elicit from him—and in one fraught moment it confirms his suspicions: Abel is bored of him, it’s over between them, and already Abel has started looking elsewhere for things he’s no longer getting from Cain.

Logically, Cain knows what he should do next: pull that other little prick off Abel and give him what for, before dragging Abel back to their room by his hair and giving him a hard lesson in fidelity; maybe even another scar, considering he hates the first one so much. But if Cain does that, he knows that Abel will leave him. He’s sure Abel’s probably going to leave him anyway, that it’s only a matter of time, but one more violent outburst will be the final nail in the coffin.

And he’s sure that whoever that other navigator is, Abel hasn’t fucked him just yet—if he had, Cain would smell it on him in a second; knows he would sense the treachery. Perhaps it’s not too late after all.

Cain keeps his mouth shut until later that night. Doesn’t return to their room until late, when the lights are off and Abel’s already in bed. He’s curled up so far from Cain’s side of the bed that his leg is almost slipping off the mattress, and he has his back to him, arms up and covering his face. It’s a stark contrast to when they first started sleeping together, when Abel would sleep draped around him, soft lips mouthing Cain’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Now he tries to keep as much space between them as he possibly can.

Cain shucks his clothing and crawls into bed naked beside him. He wants to give Abel something new tonight—make love to him, even, if that’s what he thinks he needs. Cain knows he’s running out of things to give, but he’s willing to do just about anything at this point, including letting Abel fuck him, so long as it cuts through the tension and brings them back to where they were.

Ignoring his sleepy moans, Cain pulls Abel flush against his chest and presses his lips to the silky skin of his neck, scenting him. He smells like Abel; _just_ like Abel, and no one else. Cain moves his lips to Abel’s shoulder, slowly grinding his cock into Abel’s ass, and holds him so tightly he’s probably squashing his ribs. With a little huff of annoyance, Abel begins to squirm away from him.

“Not now,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep. He bats at Cain’s forearm. “Go to sleep. It’s late.”

Cain pauses, stiffening. “You used to want this.”

Abel’s sharp reply cuts through the room like a burning blade. “Things change. I used to think I liked being hurt, too, but I’ve changed my mind.” He wriggles his way out of Cain’s arms and pulls the covers up over his shoulders, moving as far away from Cain as he can. “Just go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning.”

Cain rolls over onto his back and stares at the shadowy ceiling, breathing harshly in the silence. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he bites out. “That long-haired little thing you were pushing your ass up against in the hallway.”

Abel is silent for too long, and for Cain that’s as good as an admission of guilt.

“How long?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Cain…”

“Tch.” Cain sits up and tries to find his pants, hands shaking. He’s so angry that he’s _got_ to get the fuck out of here and away from Abel before he does something he regrets. He could slice up Abel’s pretty face, he supposes—make sure no one but Cain ever looks at him again—but some worthless fucking whore isn’t worth the god knows how many months in the brig that’d get him. He’ll get his own back some other way.

But Abel apparently has other ideas. Cain is disgusted when he hears Abel sniffling—he can’t have the gall to be fucking crying after what he’s done, he _can’t_ —before Abel is suddenly pressed to his back, arms around him, damp cheek to Cain’s shoulder.

“I haven’t done anything,” he whispers in an uneven voice. “I swear to you I haven’t. It’s just flirting, that’s all it ever was; I was never going to—”

Cain growls and tries to shake Abel off of him, but Abel won’t budge. “Cain,” he says again, and even lifts his head to kiss the back of Cain’s neck. “Please don’t go. Let me explain.”

Cain has to wonder what’s caused Abel’s sudden shift in attitude—fear of what Cain’s going to do to him, or genuine guilt? Whatever the reason, it’s doing a number on him. It’s been too long since Abel’s put his arms around him willingly, and Cain’s ashamed to acknowledge he’s missed the contact. Even if Abel _is_ a lying slut.

He drops his pants back to the floor and says stiffly, “Let’s hear it, then.”

Abel takes a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” he begins, sniffling. “I’m scared of everything—that we won’t get home; that I’ll never see my family again; that I’m going to get you killed, that… that…” He trails off here.

“What?” Cain pushes him.

“I’m scared of you,” Abel confesses in a small voice. “You make me so afraid of you. Of trusting you. Of letting my guard down around you. Every time I try and open up to you, all you do is hurt me; I don’t think you know any other way to be. ”

Cain sets his jaw. He doesn’t know what to say to this, least of all because it’s true. He does hurt Abel. And not even because he wants to, but because he can never seem to avoid it, no matter how hard he tries. Sometimes he thinks Abel should have come with a fucking manual, because all Cain ever seems to do with him is get things wrong.  

“I know you try,” Abel whispers to him then, lips moving against his shoulder, “but sometimes it’s just not enough. Sometimes I want to feel safe. _He_ makes me feel safe.”

“So why don’t you just go and fuck him then,” Cain suggests through clenched teeth.

“I wouldn’t,” Abel tells him, rubbing his cheek against Cain’s shoulder. “I told you I wouldn’t do that to you. Please don’t be angry with me. It was a stupid thing to do, I know that, but it was just flirting. I promise you, that’s all it was. I was never going to take it any further than that and neither was he.”

“You’re a mind-reader now, huh?” Cain spits at him.  

“Cain…” Abel kisses his shoulder again. “Come back to bed; we don’t have to do this right now. Please, baby...” Cain knows then and there that Abel’s manipulating him: He never calls him baby and hasn’t been remotely affectionate for weeks. But it works.

Cain allows Abel to pull him back to bed. He lays there stiff, arms around Abel and cheek pressed to Abel’s chest, while Abel strokes his hair. He knows it's too late. He knows Abel's lying to him. He knows that all of this is just a ploy to get around Cain's anger, and that the sneaky little bitch is probably going to leave him the minute his back's turned, but he needs this now, even if it's a lie. He's still hoping against hope that he can fix things—show Abel that he doesn't have to be afraid of him, that he can change. Because he's not about to give up and let this go. If it can't be Abel, then no one else will do.

 

 


End file.
